Hanna phoned occasionally and the conversations usually wiped the anxiety from her face. They had only spent a couple of weeks together in that wretched bunker, but that time had meant a great deal. Hanna was tough. She had told Lelle about her time in the bunker and what she had endured, and he had listened as far as possible. For Lina’s sake. Because he didn’t want to run from her suffering and because he needed to know. Hanna had given him the hairband, Lina’s hairband, and he wore it round his wrist as a bracelet. He would never take it off as long as he lived.

Lina’s grave could be seen from a long way off, surrounded by fresh flowers and burning candles, and signs and cards filled with sad messages in black felt-tip pen. Two figures were standing with their backs to them when they walked up. Lelle felt Meja draw closer to him and their feet marched in time over the gravel path. Anette was holding her child. The crinkled face was resting on her shoulder and it made the ground sway beneath him. He stopped in the middle of the path with Meja a shadow beside him. When Anette caught sight of him she placed a hand over the child’s bare head. Thomas, in turn, put an arm around her. They looked from Lelle to Meja as if they couldn’t work out their relationship with each other, or why. Lelle noticed streaks of mascara on Anette’s cheeks as they approached. None of them said anything for a long time, there was only the babbling of the child in the silence. Eventually Anette held out a free hand and drew him towards her. They hugged awkwardly with the child between them. Lelle felt the downy hair on his nose and breathed in the baby smell and it made his eyes brim with tears.

‘Thank you,’ Anette whispered. ‘For bringing home our daughter.’

They stood for a long time at the grave after Anette and Thomas left. Lelle knelt on the cold earth and felt his muscles begin to contract from his neck all the way down to his fingertips. Meja watered the flowers, pulled up the weeds and lit the candles blown out by the wind. Everything was as it should be when she took a step back. She didn’t notice the rage overtake him, how he shuddered and spat. Not until he began lashing out with his arms and legs did she notice. He hit and kicked and tore at all the beautiful things, extinguishing the candles and sending the petals flying on the wind. He dug up the earth with his fingers until his hands were black, until he ran out of breath and energy. Meja didn’t move until it was over and he had become still. Then she held out her hand and helped him up.